Illusions in Love

It is both devastating and empowering to realise the depth of our own illusions. Even the most seemingly self aware tend to play masterful games with themselves, I know that’s the case for myself. In a way these games are even more dangerous than those the ‘naive’ play, for us clever ones can perfect the craft of hiding behind a story that we can perceive things clearly.

We think we know what will bring us happiness, so we manipulate the people around us in the hope they will validate us, fill up our oxygen tank for some time until it runs dry and we desperately seek a new game that we may have failed to reap any benefit from every other time, but hey, maybe this time we might get lucky..maybe this won’t end in us burning in the fire of devastation once again..

We think we fall in love with a person, yet we are falling in love with our own limited ideas and expectations that mould love into something that feels safe, sturdy and comfortable. A kind of love that makes us feel chosen and superior and special. We fall in love with an idea of what we have been conditioned will bring us wholeness. The problem with this is that love is not meant to be contained and morphed and limited. Love is chaos and fear and pain. It is tumultuous. It is all-encompassing. It has no barriers and certainly no intention to indulge our desire for safety. Our ideas that try to hoard and manipulate love will only bring devastation. 

In my experience when this devastation knocks on my door the only smart choice is to feel. To be destroyed. To become nothing. Humanity has labelled this process ‘heartbreak’. But of course our heart is not breaking, it is our false ideas that we have built our sense of identity around which are falling apart. In this way heart break feels like a death, a death of ideas we have merged with. A death of the Disney movies and romantic comedies that have taken up residence in our psyche and have subtly influenced every decision in our life. A part of me doesn’t wish this pain on anyone and a part of me hopes everyone experiences this death as intimately as possible. Because it is only with this death that something else becomes possible. A choice arises to give up our games once and for all. To return to the the moment. To radically love ourselves to the point where any desire to seek anything from another falls away. We are simply overflowing. Whole. 

Quite ironically when we reach this place life mirrors this wholeness with external love in every form. Butterflies and fireflies follow us down the street. Eye contact with strangers becomes prolonged and imbued with gentleness. Our lives flourish in every direction. Miracles become the norm. And we realise that it was love all along. It was love that misled us from our truth in the first place. It was love that created the fantasies we became completely possessed by. And It was love that brought us to our knees and burned away layer upon layer of falsity that we gave our power away to. 

A very dear friend often says ‘there is no separation, it’s all love’ with a cheeky and infectious giggle. The truth of that statement continues to land for me. Maybe the invitation is to let love tear us apart. Maybe that’s the only way to really know what love is.

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